12dz Chapter 191 Method of Verifying Names
Chapter 191 Method of Verifying Names
The plaques that were unearthed from the old warehouse were first placed in the scripture hall.
It's not about worshipping them.
It means to spread out.
The long tables stretched from inside the door to outside, with wooden plaques stacked flat. Broken, cracked, and damp ones were all separated into piles. Si Mo took some fine charcoal and wrote numbers on the corners of the tables. Xu Shun squatted by the last table, still holding the plaque with the character "Xu" on the back, as if afraid that if he let go, he would sink back into the ground.
There were no chanting sessions at the temple today.
A low mat has been added by the threshold.
On the table sat a basin of water, a blank notebook, and an old seal box. Xuanzang, with his sleeves rolled up, sat there, first looking at the people, then at the cards, without making a single stroke for a long time.
Wukong leaned against the pillar and kicked the wooden basin beside the mat: "Are you trying to summon a spirit, or are you trying to solve a case?"
Xuanzang raised his eyes: "None of them. First, pull the names out of the account."
Chen Fan stood beside the desk, glanced at the empty ledger, and asked, "Have you thought it through?"
"I've thought it through." Xuanzang turned to the first page of the blank book, picked up his pen and wrote three words: "True Name Page."
The characters are small, but they are pressed very firmly.
The people in the courtyard crowded closer.
Xuanzang put down his pen, his voice not loud, but everyone in the library heard him.
"From today onwards, the office will open a registration system. Anyone who brings old employee badges, old seals, or old registration books to identify someone is not allowed to simply state their number."
He raised his hand and pointed to the basin of water in front of him.
"Wash your hands first. Then say your real name."
"If someone is to be identified as the deceased, three witnesses are required. One must state their kinship, one their origin, and one their former residence. Only if the testimonies of the three match can the signature page be added."
"If only one person comes to identify the person, that can be recorded. Record the suspected name first. Obtain a certificate within three days. If a certificate cannot be obtained, the name will not be included in the main register, but will only be displayed on a side page."
The courtyard was quiet for a moment.
Bai Ya frowned first: "Three people? Some families have long since dispersed. It's been so long since the collapse of the granary; it's not easy to gather three mouths to feed."
Xuanzang nodded: "That's why we don't seal it off completely. If we can't collect all the cards, we'll just note down the suspected ones. We can add more later. It's better than having a card buried in the ground."
Si Mo, holding the old account book, continued, "Where's the seal? Someone has an old seal corner, claiming it belongs to their ancestor. How can we verify that?"
Xuanzang pushed the seal box open, revealing a few pieces of leftover ink inside.
"Old seals are no longer valid permits. They can only be used as introductory documents."
He paused, then added, "The cards will change, the seals will crack, and the mouth will learn. Every person who has lived will leave their mark."
Wukong laughed: "Your words sound like an insult."
"It's the rule." Xuanzang lowered his head and added another column next to the real name page, verbally explaining his origin.
"When registering, you have to say two things. One is where you come from, where you work, and who you work with. The other is what you have at home, even if it's just a broken pot or a knife mark on the threshold. Only if you can say it and others can continue the story will it count."
Xu Shun, clutching the cards, his throat tightened: "What if even the family members themselves can't remember?"
Xuanzang looked at him: "Then let's start with what you remember."
Xu Shun lowered his head and only hummed in response after a long while.
Chen Fan remained silent throughout.
He looked at the low mat and slowly understood Xuanzang's meaning.
Previously, they were focused on the seal, the plaque, and that old, labor-saving method. With the cracking of the seal, everyone wanted to take shortcuts. But once shortcuts opened, fakes followed. Today someone recognizes one plaque, tomorrow someone will bring ten to counterfeit. If a Buddhist institution relies solely on its magic treasures, solely on a single seal, once the seal is broken, empty plaques will be everywhere.
Xuanzang, the master of this seat, does not recognize inanimate objects, but recognizes people first.
trouble.
slow.
But once it's established, nothing can replace it.
Chen Fan suddenly smiled and said, "Okay. Let's do it this way."
Wukong tilted his head to look at him: "Aren't you annoyed?"
"It's better to be annoyed." Chen Fan reached out and flipped over a broken card on the table. "The easier it is, the easier it is to fake. Make them run around a few more times and ask a few more questions, and the faker will be exhausted first."
Si Mo understood and immediately spread out the old ledger: "Then I will start a new ledger. There will be three books: the main ledger, the doubtful ledger, and the corroborating evidence ledger."
"Let's add another one," Xuanzang said.
"What?"
"Name change register".
Several people in the courtyard looked at him.
Xuanzang's gaze fell on the plaque in Xu Shun's arms: "There are more than a few families like his that have changed their surnames along the way. The old name is overshadowed by the old surname, and later generations may not know. Once you find one, make a separate record. Write down the old surname, the name change, and the reason."
Upon hearing this, Xu Shun's hand trembled, and he wiped off the mud from the edge of the card.
Bai Ya clicked his tongue: "This is more than just recognizing a dead person."
"It wasn't just that to begin with," Chen Fan chimed in. "They used dead names to exchange for salt, and fake accounts to take over. There were quite a few people who would benefit from it. If you sort out the roster, you can easily find out who borrowed the names of the dead to make a living and who used old accounts to occupy space."
As soon as these words were spoken, the faces of several people in the library changed.
They were so focused on digging out the people underground that they hadn't had time to settle accounts with those on the surface.
Xuanzang ignored their expressions and continued to enforce the rules.
"The registration desk is only in the scripture hall, which is not enough."
Bai Ya looked up: "You want to move out?"
"We need to move them." Xuanzang pointed to the register. "One at the ferry crossing, one at the mountain pass, and one at the school. Set up side tables at all three locations. First, collect oral accounts, then send them to the scripture hall for verification."
Wukong raised an eyebrow: "The academy counts too?"
"Yes," Xuanzang said. "Children remember the old names. The elderly forget, but the children can recite them. The children in the school know most about what characters were originally carved on the doors of each house, and which ditch their ancestors migrated from."
Baiya, who was originally standing by the door, straightened up upon hearing this.
He's in charge of the route. The ferry crossings and mountain passes, the comings and goings, are all under his jurisdiction. If the name verification station were moved there, people wouldn't all have to crowd into the scripture hall, and it would be difficult to pass off false names.
He thought for a moment, then turned and walked out.
Chen Fan called out to him, "Where are you going?"
"Find tables." Bai Ya said without turning his head. "Set them up at the ferry crossing first. I'll have two people guard the mountain pass. The school will need to borrow the teacher's wooden planks."
Wukong chuckled, "You're even more impatient than the one chanting the sutras."
Baiya turned around and sighed: "The old one can run on the road, but the scripture hall can't wait for it to come."
After saying that, he really left.
Soon, the sounds of moving wooden tables could be heard outside the courtyard. Some people were carrying stools, others were lifting door panels; there was a chaotic yet energetic scene.
Xuanzang picked up his brush and beckoned to Xu Shun.
"You go first."
Xu Shun slowly moved over, knelt down in front of the mat, and first put his hands into the basin of water. The water sloshed, and the fine sand at the bottom of the basin floated to the surface. He washed for a long time, as if trying to clean the dirt from between his fingers.
Xuanzang did not urge him.
After he took his hand out, Xuanzang asked, "Tell me your real name."
Xu Shun's lips moved slightly: "Xu Shun."
Xuanzang didn't finish writing: "What about the old surname?"
Xu Shun was stunned.
He held the wooden plaque, staring at the character "Xu" on the back for a long time. His Adam's apple bobbed a few times before he finally managed to squeeze out, "My father only mentioned it once. He said it wasn't originally called Xu. It sounded like... Yan."
Si Mo immediately flipped through the old records.
After flipping through a few pages, he looked up: "On the tattered page of Yi Thirty-Seven, the exposed radical also looks like '言' (yan).
Xuanzang then wrote two lines in the book.
Xu Shun. His surname is suspected to be Yan.
"The second question," Xuanzang said, "who do you identify with?"
Xu Shun lowered his head, his fingers picking at the chipped edge of the plaque: "I acknowledge my ancestors. I don't remember all the names. I only remember there was half a piece of paper in the old cabinet at home that I saw when I was a child. It had the character 'Cheng' written on it. My father said that was the name of the person buried in the granary."
"The third sentence," Xuanzang said calmly, "its origin."
Xu Shun took a breath and slowly said, "My family used to live on the west side of the old granary. There was a crooked jujube tree in front of the door. Later, the granary collapsed, and the house was leveled. We moved to the south slope. My father didn't allow me to ask about the old things. Every year on the day the granary collapsed, he would go to the back of the slope alone to burn paper money. He dared not burn the ashes at the door of the house."
No one spoke in the courtyard.
A gust of wind swept in from the doorway, causing the true name page to flip slightly.
Xuanzang looked at the two people beside him: "Who can testify?"
An old woman squeezed out first, leaning on a bamboo cane: "I recognize him. His jujube tree, the branches lean eastward. I stole jujubes from his tree when I was a child, and his grandmother chased me with a broom."
Another old man stepped in from across the threshold: "That family was the first to move to the south slope area. I even helped carry the cabinet that year. A corner of the cabinet was chipped off, and it's still there."
Xuanzang wrote them down one by one.
The three people's accounts match.
He picked up his pen, lightly touched the character for "doubt," and then returned to the main page, writing the first stroke.
The ink seeped into the paper and slowly settled.
Xu Shun stared at the two lines of text, his shoulders slumping little by little, as if he had been carrying something for a long time and could finally put one end down. He didn't cry, but simply placed the wooden plaque on the table and pushed it in front of Xuanzang.
"Should we still accept this?"
Xuanzang looked at the plaque, then at him: "Collect. Put the plaque into the old certificate pile. Put the name into the real name page."
Xu Shun nodded, raised his hand to wipe his face, his palm was wet, he didn't know if it was water from the basin or sweat from his forehead.
Before noon, the people from Baiya replied.
Two tables were set up at the ferry crossing. One was for collecting name tags, and the other for recording verbal statements. A wooden sign was erected at the mountain pass, stating that one should first state their real name, then their old name. The school was even faster; the teacher erased the blackboard and wrote the three verification criteria directly in front of the hall, the characters crooked but still eye-catching.
After hearing this, Si Mo couldn't help but laugh: "This is going to be interesting."
Chen Fan stood at the entrance of the library, watching the people delivering booklets back and forth, and reached out to pat the door frame.
"It's good to have a lively atmosphere," he said. "Once it's lively, it can't be hidden."
No sooner had he finished speaking than two more people entered through the door.
One carrying an old basket, the other clutching a family genealogy booklet the size of a door panel, barely out of breath, they rushed towards the low mat and shouted, "Master, I'm going to add my real name too!"
Xuanzang gently blew on the page he had just finished writing to dry it, then pointed to the basin of water.
"Wash your hands first. One at a time."
Chapter 659: Former Hong Kong Tax Official
The crowd outside the temple was constant.
By late afternoon, the water in the basin had been changed three times. The threshold was wet, and the ground was covered with shoe prints. Xuanzang sat behind the low mat, his wrist never stopping, his sleeves stained with ink as he wrote. Si Mo held the newly collected pages, sorting and checking them as he went. Xu Shun squatted in the corner, focusing on recognizing the wooden tags and old numbers, muttering each one to himself as he identified it.
Liu Er never entered the room.
Chen Fan glanced at it twice, then got up and left the building.
At the base of the backyard wall, Liu Er was squatting by the stone trough, using a thin blade of grass to stir the water. A few peach leaves floated on the surface, swirling around as he stirred them.
"Have you received any news?" Chen Fan asked.
Liu Er snapped a blade of grass and threw it into the water: "An old fox has surfaced."
Chen Fan didn't urge him.
Liu Er wiped the dust off his nose: "You had someone post the name verification method, and those salt carriers in Gangbei were the first to panic. They didn't cause any trouble, nor did they come to claim anything; instead, they closed their shops early in the morning. I followed their trail and found people hiding in the abandoned shipyard behind the old No. 6 Wharf."
"Who?"
"The retired Inspector General of Customs, surnamed Lu, named Lu Chengjian." Liu Er sneered, "Not much of a title, but a big appetite. The year the warehouse collapsed, he was in charge of supplementing the registers in the Registrar's Office, and later said he retired due to illness. Sick my foot, he's more agile than a dog."
Chen Fan's eyelids twitched slightly: "It's been confirmed?"
"It's confirmed." Liu Er held up two fingers. "I've been watching for half a day and saw two groups of people. One group was delivering salt, and the other was collecting work permits. Those collecting work permits were all rootless laborers. They put their fingerprints on the permits and took the slips to wait for work in the back alley of the salt shop. The slips didn't have their own names on them; they had the old warehouse ghost's number on them."
Si Mo happened to be carrying out the booklet when he heard this, and he stopped in his tracks: "Using the names of the dead to replace the names of the living?"
Liu Er nodded: "The old account is still useful. The person has long been buried, and the family has scattered. It can be used to collect salt, to eat wages, and to fill vacancies. No one complains. If someone really comes to check, there are still old accounts in the account, and even the numbers match."
Xu Shun squatted by the door, his hand clenching the wooden plaque with the character "Xu" tightly, his knuckles trembling: "They...have they been doing this all along?"
"Not always," Liu Er said. "First, it was in the years after the warehouse collapsed. Then it stopped. Recently, you were looking through the old registers, and he was afraid of losing his way, so he picked it up again."
Chen Fan turned and went inside, grabbed his outer garment and put it on: "Let's go take a look."
The abandoned shipyard is located in the most remote corner of the port.
That place used to house official ships. Later, the waterway was changed, and large ships could no longer come through, so the dock was abandoned. The dock entrance is piled with rotten wood and broken cables, and when the tide recedes, the mud is full of broken clam shells. It's slippery to walk on.
The sky was gray. The wind swept in from the river, carrying salt foam that felt like fine sand on my face.
Instead of taking the proper route, the group climbed over the low wall at the back.
Half a row of scaffolding still stood in the dock. The beams were blackened, and nails protruded from the sides. At the very back was an old guardhouse; the window paper was long gone, but the door had been newly replaced and coated with a thin layer of oil, making it obvious from a distance that something was wrong.
Liu Er raised his hand first, signaling everyone not to move.
There were people talking inside the room.
"Put these volumes back first," a hoarse voice said. "Volumes A9, B37, and D11 should all be printed the old way. Don't leave the family member's signature blank; trace it over using old paper from two years ago."
The other, younger one, said in a weak voice, "Master Lu, the checks outside are very strict. The ancestral hall has even dug up the family genealogy."
"How many can you find?" a hoarse voice snorted. "Dead men don't crawl up and talk."
Upon hearing "Yi Thirty-Seven," Xu Shun's breathing became erratic, and he raised his foot to rush forward. Chen Fan grabbed his shoulder and pressed down on him. Xu Shun gritted his teeth and stopped abruptly.
Chen Fan tilted his head slightly towards Liu Er.
Liu Er raised his leg and kicked, snapping the bolt off with a click.
The two people in the room looked up at the same time.
The man further inside was in his fifties, with a thin face and high cheekbones. He wore a gray coat that was relatively neatly made, with the cuffs rolled up flat, as if he were still sitting in an official's office. Beside him was a wooden box, and on the table were three pages of old accounts spread out, with half a dark printing plate pressed down next to it.
The other was a young hanger-on who was tracing characters with a brush when he saw the newcomer. His hand trembled, and ink splattered all over the paper.
Lu Chengjian was taken aback for a moment, then placed his hand on the half of the seal: "What do you gentlemen intend to do by trespassing on former official territory?"
"You've been retired for so many years, and you still act like this." Si Mo stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the printing plate. "Is that the rubbing of the Termination Print?"
Lu Chengjian's lips twitched: "I don't understand."
Chen Fan didn't look at him, but instead looked at the accounts on the table. The account pages were old, but the newly added ink was shiny. He recognized the two names on them; they were cards that had been dug up from the ground last night.
Xu Shun couldn't take his eyes off him.
He stared at a page, swallowed hard, and squeezed out, "This number is from my neighborhood."
Lu Chengjian then noticed him and frowned: "Your surname is Xu?"
Xu Shun stepped forward: "My original surname wasn't Xu, was it?"
The room fell silent.
A gust of wind blew in through the broken window, lifting a thin sheet of paper on the corner of the table. Lu Chengjian reached out to press it down, but Chen Fan was faster, pulling the page out first. Underneath the paper was half a wax rubbing, the pattern of which matched the fragments they had dug out under the peach tree.
Si Mo's eyes lit up: "They really are the same as before."
Lu Chengjian's expression changed, and he reached out to snatch it. Liu Er swung his elbow across and struck him in the chest. Lu Chengjian staggered back two steps, his lower back hitting the edge of the table, causing the salt bag on the table to roll off and scatter white frost all over the floor.
The young hanger-on turned to try and squeeze through the back window. Xuanzang was already standing by the window, raised his hand to press down on his shoulder, and gently pushed him back to the corner. The hanger-on's legs went weak, and he squatted down, covering his head, too afraid to move.
Chen Fan picked up the half of the printing plate.
The wooden base is heavy, and the edges are polished to a shine from years of handling. The surface is engraved with numbered grids, and there's also half a groove next to it. As long as you trace the deceased's old number onto it and then press it onto a blank worksheet, the deceased's number can be returned to the register.
"How much salt did you exchange this for?" Chen Fan asked.
Lu Chengjian coughed twice, his chest heaving, but he remained defiant: "Old scores are the responsibility of the old authorities. Who do you think you are, interrogating me like this?"
"The old office?" Si Mo laughed in anger. "The people from the old office have long since left. You, a retired official, hiding in a dilapidated dock, altering dead accounts, and you dare to mention the old office."
Lu Chengjian wiped his mouth, a sinister glint in his eyes: "So what if it's disbanded? The port needs to eat, and the laborers need to eat too. The amount of salt allocated by the court is limited. If no one takes the job, who will get it? Who will do the work? If you make a huge fuss about the accounts today, the docks will have to shut down tomorrow. If they shut down, they'll starve, not me."
Xu Shun lunged forward, grabbing his collar: "Where's my dad? Where's my family's account number? Did you take it back?!"
Lu Chengjian's neck snapped to the side as he was pulled, but he didn't struggle. He just glanced at him sideways and said, "Your family's group collapsed in the granary, and we didn't even manage to carry out their complete bodies. The cell was just sitting there empty. Later, when we needed to repair the dike and unload the salt, someone had to fill in. If your father were alive, he might even thank me for letting this cell provide rations for a few more years."
As soon as he finished speaking, Xu Shun punched him directly.
A punch landed on his face, sending Lu Chengjian and his chair tumbling over. One of the wooden chair legs broke, and his forehead scraped against the floor tiles, immediately drawing blood. He didn't bleed much; instead, a layer of sweat welled up first.
Xu Shun was about to hit him again when Chen Fan reached out and pulled him away: "That's enough. Don't kill him yet."
Xu Shun's chest heaved, his eyes were bloodshot, and in the end he let go.
Chen Fan squatted down and placed the half of the seal in front of Lu Chengjian: "You're not alone. Old debts, old pledges, old salt routes—you, a retired official, can't handle it all. Who else is above you?"
Lu Chengjian kept his mouth shut.
Liu Er squatted down on his other side and chuckled, "It's fine if you don't want to tell me. The two salt-loving guys I picked up on the road weren't as tough as you. Also, there were two jars of old paper buried behind this house, and I dug them up. Which one was signed by whom, which stroke was collected by whom, we'll slowly compare them, and we'll eventually figure it out."
Lu Chengjian's eyelids finally twitched.
He glanced at Chen Fan, then at the half-printed plate, his Adam's apple bobbing twice as if he had swallowed a rusty nail.
"I'll tell you," he said, his voice dry, "I didn't supply the salt. I didn't forge the printing plates myself. They were left to me after the old tax office closed down."
Chen Fan asked, "Who left it?"
Lu Chengjian's lips turned white, and it took him a long time to utter three words: "Xu Dianli".
Xu Shun froze: "Xu?"
"It's not this Xu you're referring to." Lu Chengjian gasped for breath, sweat streaming down his forehead. "It's his old name, Xu Maosheng. The year the warehouse collapsed, he was in charge of sealing the register of deceased names, and I was in charge of filling in the missing pages and affixing the seals. Later, he died, and the register fell into my hands. In recent years, the port has been short of salt and workers, so I picked it up again."
Si Mo immediately flipped to the book: "Xu Maosheng's name can be found in the library."
Chen Fan nodded, stood up and said, "Tie the people up, take the account book and the printing plate with you. Seal off the dock, don't even let the salt on the ground leak out."
Liu Er responded, pulled over the broken cable, and tied Lu Chengjian's hands behind his back. Lu Chengjian struggled a couple of times, but the rope dug into his flesh, and he immediately became obedient, only staring down at the layer of salt on the ground.
Xu Shun stood before the table, reached out and pulled out his family's account book page, pressing it tightly against his chest. The edges of the paper were damp with sweat and softened after a while.
Xuanzang walked over, glanced at him, and didn't try to persuade him. He simply moved the inkstone on the table to make room for Si Mo to put away the books.
The sound of the tide outside kept crashing in.
The door was crooked, creaking in the wind.
Chen Fan walked to the door and glanced back at the duty room. A sliver of evening light shone through the broken window, landing right at Lu Chengjian's feet. The half of the printing plate had already been placed in Si Mo's wooden box, the lid closed and securely fastened.
He stepped over the threshold and said calmly, "Back at the museum, examine Xu Maosheng first."
Chapter 660 Tearing Up the Number in Public at the Ferry Crossing
Before dawn, the open space at the ferry crossing was already packed with people.
Stacks of salt bags lay piled high, the hemp ropes still damp. The high tide last night had left the wooden planks slick with moisture, creaking underfoot. The people from the scripture hall brought in three old desks, piecing them together; the legs were uneven, so half a broken brick was placed underneath. A door panel stood before the desks, whitewashed with three lines of black writing.
Verify real name.
Settle old scores.
Make changes in public.
The character was added by Si Mo last night. Mo hasn't fully mastered it yet, and the bottom horizontal stroke was blown away by the wind and bled.
As dawn broke, Xuanzang placed a basin of water on the table, a few peach leaves floating in it. Those who came reached in to wash their hands, then pressed their handprints and registered. No one was allowed to rush. Anyone who did would be moved to the back of the line.
Xu Shun arrived the earliest.
He hadn't slept all night, his eyes were dark and swollen, and he was still clutching the old employee badge with the character "Xu" on the back, as if he were holding an urn. When he arrived at the desk, he didn't go up immediately, but stood by the door, looking at the three lines of words on it over and over again, his Adam's apple bobbing several times.
Chen Fan stood on a higher stone step, watching as more and more people gathered.
The account books that were seized from the Hong Kong tax office yesterday are all laid out on the table. The covers of the account books are all frayed, there are salt grains on the edges, and white powder comes off when you scratch them with your fingernail. The half of the old printing plate is also there, pressed under the "Death Supplement" account on the far left page.
Lu Chengjian was tied to the stake, his mouth not gagged, but his face looked even worse than if it were. Last night he had been stubborn, saying that the way the accounts were kept at the port hadn't been for a year or two, and if they really kept track of it, half the ferry crossing would be overturned. Now that everyone had arrived, he had fallen silent, only staring at the tips of his shoes with his head down.
Si Mo slammed the book down and cleared his throat.
"Listen carefully before you step forward. Today, we don't recognize numbers, only names. After recognizing names, we'll examine accounts. Those who have been recorded as dead people collecting salt for the living, dead people taking the work for the living, and dead people paying taxes for the living, will be picked out one by one and torn up in public."
There was a buzzing sound from below.
A porter squeezed out, pointed at Lu Chengjian, and said in a trembling voice, "My father has been dead for seven years, but last winter the accounts showed he received an extra two dou of coarse salt. Who took it?"
Si Mo flipped through the pages and quickly found it.
"Ding Siwang, old name thirty-seven. Starting from the third year after his death, he received two dou of coarse salt every winter month, with his wages halved, and the payment was recorded under your name. The person in charge was Lu Chengjian. The person who collected the seal on his behalf was Zhou Erli, who has already fled."
After listening, the porter stood there for a while, then suddenly turned around and shouted into the crowd, "Mother, bring the cards!"
An elderly woman with gray hair was pushing and shoving behind him, her sleeves torn askew. She handed him a cloth bag, her hands trembling. The porter untied the bag; inside was an old, shiny black wooden plaque, its edges rounded, but the lacquer mark on the plaque was still visible.
Si Mo glanced at Chen Fan.
Chen Fan raised his hand and pointed to the stove next to him.
The stove was hastily built this morning, surrounded by scrap bricks, and burning scraps of firewood from the saltworks. The fire was weak, with layers of glowing embers. The porter stood there for a while, holding a sign, as if trying to clean the edges of it. After wiping it a couple of times, he gritted his teeth and threw it in.
The wooden sign was first wedged against the edge of the brick, and then flipped into the fire after a while.
With a flick of the flame, the old lacquer mark quickly bubbled, turned black, and cracked.
No one on the field was joking.
The old woman stared at the stove, her body swaying slightly. Xu Shun quickly steadied her. She didn't cry, but simply raised the back of her hand to wipe her nose, then nodded towards the table: "Write my son's real name. Ding He. Not Thirty-Seven."
Si Mo picked up his pen and wrote it down heavily.
This stroke of the pen was like a hole being opened.
The second person to come up was Old Jiang, a dockworker carrying ropes. He pulled out two tokens from his pocket, one his own and one his brother's. His brother had drowned in the tidal flats three years ago, and his body was never fully recovered. However, the old records showed that his brother had worked two night shifts last year.
Who covered this night shift?
Si Mo read from the ledger: "Under Jiang Dachuan's name, two night shifts, sixteen salt packages. Actual person in charge: Zhao Liucheng, signature stamped with the old plaque."
Immediately, someone in the crowd grabbed Zhao Liucheng, and a chorus of curses erupted. Zhao Liucheng's face flushed red. He struggled twice but couldn't break free. Finally, he stubbornly shouted, "I'm just following orders from my superiors! If they don't give me a job with the 'dead body' designation, I won't get any work!"
"If you can't get any work, do you just step on someone's head to death?"
Xu Shun's shout was so loud it cracked.
He rushed to the front, clutching the "Xu" character plaque, his chest heaving. The crowd, seeing him, gradually quieted down. Everyone knew that the first family plaque unearthed from the pit last night belonged to his ancestors.
Xu Shun placed the cards on the table, pressing them down with his hand, refusing to let go.
"My family wasn't originally called Xu, and this wasn't the account number either." He looked at everyone, his eyes bloodshot. "My father said that the year the granary collapsed, the dead had no names, and the survivors didn't dare use their real names. Whoever needed food would use the accountant's number. After a while, they even dared to write the number on graves. I didn't understand before. Last night, holding this nameplate, I realized how dirty this thing is."
After he finished speaking, he held up the sign and took two steps toward Lu Chengjian.
"You use dead people to force labor, and dead accounts to exchange for salt. Who eats the salt you get in return? Everyone knows whose walls have been newly plastered, and whose stoves have been overheated. If we don't tear this down today, someone will still be using my ancestors' names tomorrow."
With a flick of his wrist, the plaque crashed straight down to Lu Chengjian's feet.
Lu Chengjian shrank back in fright.
"You throw it yourself," Xu Shun said, staring at him. "Throw it in."
Lu Chengjian's lips trembled, but he didn't move.
Chen Fan walked down the stone steps and stopped in front of him.
"If you don't throw it away, I'll add it to your account piece by piece, according to the amount you handled." Chen Fan's voice wasn't loud. "You'll make up for the amount of work done on the dead. You'll bring back the salt that was missing from the dead from the accounting department."
Lu Chengjian suddenly looked up: "The Accounting Department?"
"Record the living, calculate the working hours, and serve by the day." Chen Fan looked at him. "The old prison won't accept you. You can still write and do accounting, so you're perfect for patching up the hole."
Lu Chengjian's throat bobbed, and his gaze momentarily lost focus. He had probably considered being beaten, considered going to jail, but he never imagined that he would have to live to pay for all these debts, bit by bit.
Xu Shun picked up the cards again and stuffed them into his hand.
Lu Chengjian's hand froze, as if he were holding charcoal. After standing there for a long time, he finally stepped forward, bent down, and put the plaque into the stove.
It's not about throwing it away, it's about putting it away.
The fire slowly bites at it, the edges turn red first, then curl up.
Si Mo didn't give him a chance to catch his breath, opened the second volume, and continued reading.
"Chen Laoba, five years after his death, made seventeen trips to transport goods during the spring flood season."
"Liu Xiaoman died during a plague year and was kept on the night watch for the next three years."
"Song Asi, the plaque has been buried, but the debt has not been settled."
As the list was read aloud, one group of people came and went. Some listened and cursed at the same time, some stared blankly at the account pages, and some even ran back home to rummage through drawers and cabinets, digging out all the old work badges that had been hidden under the stove or hanging on the beam.
By noon, the fire in the stove was finally burning brightly.
The wooden plaque, after being burned for a long time, emitted a bitter smell, like the smoke rising from the rafters of a damp house when they were being dried. A layer of fine ash had accumulated around the brazier, with unburnt copper buckles still mixed in.
Xuanzang was always writing behind the desk.
Each time an old nameplate was burned, he would add the corresponding person's real name to the new book. The deceased were listed in a separate book, and the living in another. The old nameplate was not erased, but a black line was drawn next to it, along with the words: "Nameplate obsolete, name preserved."
Si Mo's voice became hoarse by the end of the reading. He picked up the bowl of water, took two sips, and continued reading.
As the sun began to set, the last account book was finally turned over.
The earlier chaos had subsided. There were still many people, but the noise was lower. It was like a group of people who had been carrying stones all day, their arms aching, and their hearts feeling empty.
Chen Fan glanced at the stove, then looked up at the old warehouse behind the ferry.
The crack in the ground is still there. But today, with so many people around and so much fire, the dampness rising from the crack has weakened considerably.
Yang Jian remained silent throughout.
He walked to the edge of the warehouse, looked down at it for a while, and then stomped his foot.
The crack in the ground trembled at first, then shrank inward, as if its tail had been grabbed by an invisible hand. The dampness seeping from the crack receded along the soil's texture, and several patches of loosened black mud quickly closed up. In the distance, a muffled thud came from under the pier, like an empty wooden plank snapping back into place.
Someone on the field saw it and was about to shout.
Yang Jian merely raised his hand, and the man swallowed the rest of his words.
"The seam at the bottom of the tent is broken," Yang Jian said.
Chen Fan nodded, then turned and ordered someone to bring over the secondary box containing the stone tablet.
The box was dug out of the Peach Tree Courtyard last night; the wood was heavy, and the corners were wrapped with old iron. Si Mo stuffed the old booklet on "Exchanging Names for Salt," half a printing plate, and several sheets of rubbing paper that he had copied today into it. Chen Fan personally closed the box lid and then sealed it with clay.
Xu Shun, standing nearby, couldn't help but ask, "It's not burning?"
"Burning it will save trouble." Chen Fan pressed down on the box lid. "Burying it would be even better. If anyone dares to say it didn't happen, we can dig it up and show them."
The stele was right by the ferry crossing, originally recording the names of those who donated to build the pier. There was a hollow space underneath, just enough to fit the secondary box. Several people worked together to pry open the stone base and put the box inside. As they closed it, Si Mo took a hammer and gave it two more taps, making the stele tremble and dust fall down in a flurry.
Chen Fan turned around and looked at Lu Chengjian and the other former officials.
They bet on four in total. Except for Lu Chengjian, the other three's legs went weak and they couldn't even stand up.
"Don't send them to the old prison," Chen Fan said. "Take them to the accounting office. First, move the old salt from the docks, then fill in the blank pages of the accounts from the past three years, page by page. Anyone who dares to cheat will sleep at the door of the accounting office at night and continue working before dawn."
One of the retired officials knelt down with a thud, his voice changing: "My lord, I'm so old—"
"As you get older, your hand should be more steady," Si Mo sneered. "When you were writing the names of the dead back then, your pen didn't tremble."
Two constables stepped forward and dragged the man up.
Lu Chengjian didn't struggle, but glanced at the stove as he passed by. The fire had shrunk, and half of a cracked corner of a tile was visible in the ashes, slowly collapsing.
Xu Shun also looked over there.
After looking at it for a while, he suddenly raised his hand, wiped his face with his sleeve, walked to the table, and laid out the page of his family's old accounts on his chest.
"Si Mo," he said, "let's change this page too. Record it by real name."
Si Mo picked up his brush, dipped it in ink, and said, "Report."
Xu Shun took a breath; his voice was still hoarse, but he enunciated each word clearly.
"Xu Shun. His ancestors were originally surnamed Zhou. After the collapse of the granary, they changed their surname to Xu. Now he is registered under his real name and no longer uses his old name."
After Si Mo finished writing, he blew on the ink and handed it to Xuan Zang to affix his seal.
Xuanzang pressed down the new seal and gently pushed the booklet pages aside.
A breeze blew up from the river, ruffling the corner of the paper. Xu Shun quickly reached out and pressed it down, his palm on his own name, holding it there for a long time before slowly releasing it.
Chapter 661 Nameless Ship at Sea
The boat was towed back by the white dragon horse.
As dusk fell, the people at the ferry dock who were hauling in their nets first heard a sound in the water. It wasn't waves crashing against the anchorage, nor fish hitting the hull of the boat; it sounded like something scraping against the rocks, making a screeching, tooth-grinding noise. Old Wu shone his lantern out, and with a flicker of the light, he first saw a section of soaked rope, then he saw Bai Longma, half-submerged on the crest of a wave, his mane plastered to his neck, using his shoulders to push a small boat toward the shore.
"Give me a hand!" Old Wu shouted, and several people on the dock all ran down.
The ship had no flag or painted number. Large patches of bark had been scraped off the hull, as if it had been worn down by a reef. The bow was tilted to one side, and a corner of the tarpaulin was torn, with water dripping into the cracks. Strangely enough, even though the ship was almost falling apart, the cabin was quiet, without a single cry or scream.
As soon as the white horse stepped into the shallow water, its breathing became heavy, like a bellows. It shook its head, spat the rope onto the shore, and nodded to Old Wu.
"Alive," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Seven."
Old Wu was so startled that the lamp in his hand trembled. He had seen talking horses a few times, but he still wasn't used to them. The two men beside him, disregarding everything else, jumped onto the boat first. A moment later, a muffled groan came from inside: "There really are seven, all sitting."
When Chen Fan arrived, the seven people had already been helped ashore.
There were four men and three women, all quite young, the oldest no more than forty. Their clothes weren't tattered, but the styles were mixed; two of them wore the short jackets commonly seen on fishermen by the sea, and one woman had finely embroidered cuffs, suggesting she didn't do manual labor. All seven of them had salt crusts on their bodies, and fine white foam clung to their hair, as if they had been at sea for a long time. But they weren't crazy or stupid; they drank when given water, chewed when given bread, and nodded or shook their heads when asked if they were cold.
When asked their names, all seven of them were stumped.
The first to speak was a tall, thin man. He held a rough earthenware bowl, his lips parted in two cracks. He began by saying he remembered being hungry, thirsty, and someone grabbing his foot when the waves capsized the boat. He paused, his brow furrowed deeply, as if he were reaching into his brain, searching for something. After a long while, sweat beaded on his forehead, and he managed to squeeze out, "I... what was my name again?"
The woman next to her heard this and became anxious. She put the bowl on her lap and said "I know" three times in a row, her voice getting louder and louder. When she finished saying it, she froze, her eyes reddened, and she raised her hand to cover her mouth.
The remaining few were about the same.
They could tell you the height of the threshold in their house, what they had planted in their yard, and whether they were literate or not, but they couldn't say their names, where they came from, or where they were going. They couldn't even recognize everyone else. A young man pointed at the woman with the embroidered cuffs and said he thought he had seen her before, but he couldn't say how or where he had seen her.
Xuanzang squatted down in front of the group, first examining their eyes, then their tongues, and finally taking their pulses. The pulses were steady, and they didn't appear possessed. He turned to Chen Fan and shook his head: "They haven't lost their souls."
Chen Fan looked at the white dragon horse: "Where did you find it?"
"It's less than thirty li from the nearshore." The white dragon horse shook the water off its mane, the droplets hitting the wooden stakes. "I was originally following the tidal channel to look at the old floating stakes at the outer mouth. Halfway there, I heard a log hitting a rock. When I went over to check, the boat was circling, as if someone had deliberately tied down the rudder. All seven people on board were awake, but none of them knew how to row, and they weren't shouting."
"Aren't there any other ships following?"
"No," said the white dragon horse. "The sea is empty. There are hardly any seagulls."
Upon hearing this, the faces of the old sailors nearby darkened.
There's an old saying at sea: if there are few seagulls, the fish won't come; the wind direction is wrong. Old Wu didn't dare interrupt, but squatted down beside the small boat, holding a lantern to shine inside. The cabin was half-foot-deep in water, and the seams of the bottom were stuffed with scraps of hemp and rags, patched up hastily. There were two new nails on the bow, but the nail feet were an old bronze color, not like they were just hammered in.
Chen Fan went over to take a look. He first checked the rudder, then the oars. One of the oars was broken in half, and the rudder handle was wrapped with three turns of thick rope. The rope was tied in a short knot, the kind used for inland seas, not for long voyages. There was no cargo on board, not even a decent fresh water bucket; they only found half a bag of hard, sturdy dried biscuits in a corner.
"It seems like it was put on hold at the last minute," Old Wu said quietly.
"Even if it's temporarily put out, someone has to push it." Chen Fan squatted down, ran his fingers along the inside of the boat plank, and wiped off a layer of black mud. He moved the lamp closer, then suddenly stopped.
On the inside of the board, near the ribs, there is a line of very shallow characters. It's not the work of a proper craftsman; it looks like it was hastily made with a knife, with uneven depths and a chip in the middle.
—The eighth tide returns to the warehouse.
Chen Fan read those words aloud, and the white dragon horse leaned closer to take a look, snorting, "Cang?"
Si Mo arrived a little late, carrying the old wooden box from the scripture hall on her shoulder. Upon hearing those four words, she quickened her pace, almost knocking over the wooden bench on the shore before she could even place the lamp properly.
"Read it again."
Chen Fan made way. Si Mo leaned over to look, his fingertips lightly tracing the engravings, his expression slowly changing: "It's not a ship number."
"Like what?" Chen Fan asked.
"Like the way of recording changes in old files." Si Mo placed the wooden box on the ground and immediately opened the lid to flip through the books. She flipped through them quickly, the pages rustling, then stopped halfway through, pulled out a catalog with frayed edges, and squatted under the lamp to examine it. She muttered to herself, "First turn to salt flats, second turn to wooden rafts, third turn to shallow bays for entry..."
She turned over a dozen pages, then suddenly stopped.
"Eighth stage." She looked up. "I've seen this catalog before."
Chen Fan held out his hand: "Give it to me."
The table of contents was old, the ink faded to gray, and the edges bore small holes from wormholes. The first seven sections listed the sea routes, each with annotations indicating the waterway, reef, and warehouse affixed to. But the eighth section abruptly ended with only two blank lines, the place names left unfilled. The ninth section abruptly followed, as if someone had torn the entire middle page out.
"Blank page?" Chen Fan asked.
Si Mo nodded: "It's not that there are missing entries, it's just that the catalog itself is empty. I looked through it when I was checking the records of the former Hong Kong tax officials, and at the time I thought the person copying the records was being lazy."
"Which company's old files?"
"The Maritime Transport and Storage Department." Si Mo closed the booklet, his hand pressing on the cover. "This set of materials wasn't originally in the library; it was in one of those rotten boxes in the collapsed warehouse. I thought the paper was too badly damaged, so I only copied down the table of contents and didn't look at it carefully. Now that I see it, it's not that I didn't look at it carefully, it's that there are no pages at all."
The white dragon horse grew impatient and swept its tail, dispelling the water droplets at its feet: "Speak human language."
Si Mo raised his eyes: "Someone erased a section of the sea route. They erased it very early. So early that whoever took over later could only copy from the blank page."
Chen Fan remained silent. He turned back to look at the seven people. They were being placed under the shed, sipping hot ginger soup. An old woman was wiping the hair of the woman with embroidered cuffs. As she wiped, the woman suddenly looked down at her wrists, as if she had seen something, and quickly rolled up her sleeves.
There is a light blue mark on the inside of my wrist.
It's not a wound, it's a mark. A small, round patch, the edges are blurred, and the pattern is illegible.
"There's one here too." The tall, thin man next to him also raised his hand. He had a mark on his wrist as well, but it was fainter and almost gone.
Xuanzang glanced at it and said, "It looks like marks left from years of wearing name tags."
"The cards are gone, and so are the names," Chen Fan said.
Those under the shed who heard this turned pale. The youngest girl hugged her bowl to her chest and whispered, "Master, have I done something wrong that I've forgotten myself?"
Xuanzang took the empty bowl from her hand and put it aside: "Get some sleep first. We'll think about it tomorrow morning."
The girl nodded and obediently lay down, but her eyes were not fully closed. She stared at the light filtering through the ceiling, as if afraid that if she closed her eyes, she would forget even what she had just said.
The wind on the shore gradually hardened, and the night tide surged upwards. The white dragon horse went to moor the boat, then returned: "There's something else at the stern."
The group followed. The stern compartment was narrow, and a thin plank had been stuffed inside, but it had become loose from the waves. The white dragon horse kicked it open, and half a wax seal and a small wad of wet paper fell out. The paper was completely rotten and would crumble at the slightest touch, leaving only an indentation on the wax seal, resembling half of the Chinese character for "warehouse".
Si Mo stared at the wax seal for a long time before raising his hand and putting it into his sleeve pocket.
"Back inside," she said. "I'm going to dig out that whole box of seafood."
Chen Fan asked the white dragon horse, "Can we still go out to sea tomorrow?"
The white dragon horse glanced at the dark outer gate and snorted, "Sure. You want to go to the eighth reincarnation?"
"Find it first," Chen Fan kicked a plank on the side of the boat. "Tonight, dismantle this boat in half. Inspect every plank. Don't miss any knife marks or old nails. Separate the seven men and keep them from getting together and having any wild thoughts. Give them enough food, and have someone guard the door."
Old Wu responded and immediately went to greet the people.
Si Mo had already tucked the catalog under her arm and was walking briskly towards the library. After walking a few feet, she turned back, spread the blank page under the lamp, and pointed it out to Chen Fan.
In a very obscure corner of a blank page, there is a tiny, almost invisible ink dot. The dot trails off in a thin line, as if the scribe's pen had paused briefly to write an unfinished character.
It's not a place name.
It is the starting stroke of the character "回".
Chapter 662 White Dots on the Nautical Chart
The blank page was still lying open under the lamp.
Si Mo pointed to the character "回" at the corner of the page, his fingertips not moving away: "It's not that my hand was shaking. It's like I was copying it halfway and then suddenly stopped."
Chen Fan took the booklet and examined it twice, tilting it to the side. The ink dot was extremely short and abruptly stopped, as if the writer had suddenly heard something and picked up the brush to leave.
No one in the room spoke.
There were sounds of a ship being dismantled outside the door. Planks were being removed one by one, and rusty nails were falling into a basin with a clanging sound. The sea breeze was blowing in through the cracks in the door, causing the lamp flame to flicker and tilt.
The white dragon horse stood in the corner. He hadn't transformed back into his horse form tonight; he was wearing an old, narrow-sleeved robe, the cuffs rolled up to his wrists, revealing his prominent wrist bones. Upon hearing the word "return," he seemed to remember something and turned to go into the inner room.
Chen Fan looked up: "You know?"
"Not necessarily." The white dragon horse didn't even turn its head. "Let's look at the picture first."
He dragged out the long wooden box from the inner room. When the lid was opened, it was full of scrolls. Some were made of sheepskin, some of oilcloth, and some were cut from old canvas. The edges were stiff, and the ropes were blackened; they looked like they had been handled frequently.
Si Moteng opened the table and used an inkstone to weigh down the corner of the book. Bai Longma picked through the books for a while, then pulled out the bottom scroll and pushed it onto the table.
"The Northern Passage map," he said. "I copied it by hand three years ago."
As soon as the picture was laid out, several people in the room gathered around it.
The nautical chart is drawn in great detail. All the coastal shoals, reefs, old towers, and shallow bays are marked. There aren't just one tidal line, but three. They vary in thickness and depth, curving northward like old vines winding around the sea. In the upper left corner, there are two additional ink marks indicating newly formed sandbars in recent years.
Chen Fan first looked at those tide lines.
The route is very strange. It's smooth near the shore, but once it goes out to sea, it suddenly turns and circles further north, as if it's doing something.
"This isn't an old picture, is it?" he asked.
White Dragon Horse nodded: "Old base, new revision. Last time the port collected the navigation logs of two fishing boats, I updated them."
Si Mo lowered his head and looked along the line until his eyes stopped when he saw the outer side of the northern passage.
There's an extra white dot there.
It's just a white dot.
It wasn't big. Rounder than a needle tip. There were no inscriptions, island names, or reef markings around it. If it weren't for the yellowish tint of the map, and the fact that the dot was so clean, it would be almost invisible.
Si Mo moved the lamp closer: "It wasn't there before."
"No," said the white dragon horse.
Chen Fan reached out and pressed down on the edge of the drawing: "Did you add this?"
The white dragon horse shook its head.
The room fell silent for a moment.
Liu Er, who had been squatting on the windowsill listening to the dismantling of the ship outside, jumped down upon hearing this, leaned over for a look, and wrinkled his nose: "The ink isn't fresh. It looks like someone pressed it with white powder after the drawing was completed. There should have been writing underneath."
Si Mo immediately rummaged through the box, finding the same set of old drafts. She flipped through them quickly, the papers rustling, and finally pulled out the one with the worst torn corner, spreading it out to the side.
The difference is immediately apparent when you compare the two pictures.
On the old map, that area outside the northern channel was originally empty. Not even the reefs were drawn. The tide line also went straight, without any detours.
On the new chart, the tide line seems to have hit a wall at that point, with all three lines veering off course.
Chen Fan stared at the three lines for a long time, a sense of unease creeping into his heart. The sea wouldn't bend like that for no reason. If there were really reefs or islands, they should be marked on the map. But now there was only a dot covered with white powder, and the tide couldn't bypass it.
"Go back," he murmured.
Si Mo looked up: "You mean, the character '回' isn't a character on a book page, but a character from the geography record?"
The white dragon horse pointed to the outside of the white dot: "Old seafarers sometimes don't write down the proper names when keeping track of routes. If they see a whirlpool, they write 'return.' If they see a broken wave, they write 'bend.' If they see a dead end, they write 'close.' It's all just verbal. If the person copying the logbook is just copying things from the nautical chart, it makes sense that he started with the word 'return.'"
Chen Fan thought for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Where's the lighthouse?"
The white dragon horse was taken aback, then pulled the map to the right, revealing a section of coastline further north.
There's a small tower drawn over there. The tower is marked in great detail, and next to it is a line of small writing: Abandoned Tower, Three Flashes, Stop at One, Old Military Use.
"North Tower?" Si Mo recognized it.
"Hmm," said the white dragon horse, "In the early years, we led warships along the outer route. Later, the port was abandoned, and the tower was also abandoned."
Chen Fan pointed to the sea between the white dot and the ruined tower: "Can this place be seen from the tower?"
"It's unlikely on a sunny day," said the White Dragon Horse. "It's even worse when it's foggy. That area is very humid, and it often produces white vapor. We can only hear the bugle call from the tower."
"Listen to the signal?" Liu Er turned his head.
Bai Longma nodded: "In the old days, the navy used tide signals. One long tide signal meant one short tide signal, and three short tide signals meant returning to port. There were different interpretations for each. At night, when you couldn't see any ships, you had to rely on listening."
Liu Er's eyes lit up slightly.
Seeing his expression, Chen Fan immediately said, "You've heard that?"
"The previous two nights," Liu Er walked to the door, tilting his ear as if trying to discern something, "I initially thought it was fishing boats evading taxes, hiding in the open sea to exchange messages. Now that I think about it, it doesn't seem like it. The sound was too uniform. It wasn't just one or two people making random noises; someone was reporting according to the old rules."
Si Mo hurriedly asked, "What should I report?"
Liu Er didn't answer immediately. He stepped out of the porch and looked up at the sky. The tide was low tonight, the moon was blurred by the clouds, and the sea was as dark as an old sheet of iron. The dismantling men were still busy, their axes chopping into the wooden planks. A dog at the distant ferry barked twice, then stopped.
He stood there for a moment, tilting his head to listen, then raised his hand and pointed north.
"Please be quiet for a moment."
None of them moved.
Even Old Wu, who was guarding the door, stopped in his tracks.
The wind rose from the harbor, first bringing the scent of damp wood, then a very faint whistling sound. Too far away, it sounded like wind whistling through hollow bamboo stalks at first. Two breaths later, the sound returned, long and drawn out, its tail ending cleanly.
Liu Er counted in a low voice, his brows furrowing little by little.
He didn't say anything after the first time.
The second time, it comes out with two short notes followed by one long note.
The third time is clearer. It's like someone standing on a high place, repeatedly reporting to someone on the sea.
Liu Er turned and went inside, his face somewhat grim: "It's not a fishing boat. Fishing boats wouldn't announce it like that at night. That's a tide signal, and an old-fashioned one at that."
The white dragon horse immediately asked, "Which set?"
"The old signal of the Northern Army," Liu Er said. "One long note means 'level.' Two short notes mean 'alive.' The last long note isn't a call for reinforcements; it's the final note before the call ends. It means 'I've heard you, continue reporting.'"
Si Mo felt a chill run down his spine: "Alive? Who would you report a survival to at sea?"
Liu Er placed his hand on the nautical chart, pressing it against the white dot: "Report to the island. There's someone there to answer. The bearing is correct, it's right here."
Chen Fan's gaze returned to the picture.
That little bit of white was blinding.
If it were just a reef or silt, no one would be keeping watch and reporting for duty in the middle of the night. The fact that they're using an old war horn means there are people, rules, and guards there. If there were only a few people, there wouldn't be a need for them to take turns answering the calls. With the sea winds so erratic, for Six Ears to be able to hear it for several nights in a row, there must be more than just a few scattered people on the island.
"They live in groups," Liu Er said more bluntly. "No fewer than several dozen. Maybe more. They take turns, knowing when the tide rises and when it falls silent. They didn't just temporarily hide there."
Bai Longma picked up the charcoal pencil, lightly circled it next to the white dot, and then traced outwards along the three tidal lines: "No wonder the tide can't go around it. Those aren't natural lines; people often walk on them, and over time, ships avoid them. Experienced sailors have seen this many times, so they simply changed the drawing."
Si Mo stared at the circle and suddenly understood: "The character '回' on the blank page means someone wanted to copy this part into the register. They stopped before finishing."
"Or maybe he didn't dare to finish writing it," Chen Fan said.
After he finished speaking, he raised his hand to flatten the drawing, and his gaze gradually settled.
"Unnamed Island".
As soon as those three words were uttered, no one in the room responded.
This name previously lingered only in scraps of paper, old accounts, and testimonies. Like a patch of land shrouded in mist, everyone claimed to have trodden it, but no one could pinpoint its exact location. Now it's no longer in the mist. It's settled on the map, no bigger than a pinhead, yet it truly occupies a piece of the sea.
A startled cry suddenly came from outside the door.
Old Wu poked his head in, still holding half of a dismantled ship beam in his hand: "The hull's interlayer was pried open, and there's a copper pipe inside. It's empty, and the pipe wall is engraved with Taoist symbols."
Chen Fan turned around: "What number?"
Old Wu took a breath: "The old Northern Army tune. It's exactly the same as the tune Liu Er was humming just now, the first beat is exactly the same."
Chen Fan didn't look at him again, but reached out and rolled up half of the sea chart, leaving the white dot and the section with the North Tower.
"Prepare a small boat," he said. "Not a big one. Choose one with a shallow draft. Also, find someone who knows the old route to the North Tower."
The white dragon horse had already fastened its outer robe tightly: "I'll lead the way."
Liu Er touched the back of his ear, listened to the sea to the north again, and suddenly grinned, but the smile was not relaxed.
"It will announce its arrival again in another incense stick's time," he said. "This time I'll time it perfectly for you."
Si Mo picked up the booklet and the nautical chart together and quickly followed. When she reached the door, she took a step back, grabbed the blank page on the table, and carefully folded it into her sleeve.
Under the lamp, only the inkstone used for pressing the design remained, the ink not yet completely dry.
A gust of wind swept through, and fine ash from the corner of the table fell onto the edge of the drawing, perfectly covering the new charcoal mark around the white dot.
Chapter 663 List of Ships
Before dawn, the lights in the library were already on.
The nautical chart lay spread out on the long table, the inkstone pressing down at its four corners. Fine dust from last night still clung to the edge of the chart; Si Mo didn't wipe it away, but merely flicked it with his fingernail, revealing the ring of charcoal marks. The white dot remained the same, next to the old path of the North Tower, like a breath deliberately left behind.
When Chen Fan entered, Xuanzang was copying pages.
He copied very slowly, the papers stacked neatly on the edges. They weren't in a main book, but individual pages. Each page had a blank space for the name, with only a spot at the bottom for a fingerprint, and two lines of small print next to it: "Leave your fingerprint first, then add your real name."
Wukong peeked out and clicked his tongue.
"If someone's already lost their name, how can you make up for it?"
Xuanzang didn't look up; the tip of his pen fell steadily.
"If you can speak, you can make amends. If you can't speak, you can at least leave a handprint. It's better than having no place to put your handprint at all."
The white dragon horse draped its damp cloak over the back of the chair and stood by the door to dry its hands.
"It's common for ships at sea to hide their names or change their registration numbers. Some people aren't unwilling to reveal their names, they just can't. The old names are buried, and the new ones are fake. After living for a long time, they even forget which name sounds best to them."
Chen Fan hummed in agreement and walked to the desk.
"Then let's establish the rules first. Only when the rules are clear can the ship set sail."
Si Mo came out of the back room carrying a stack of booklets. The booklets were made of coarse hemp paper, thin, and made a creaking sound when turned. She had clearly not slept much last night, as her eyes were dark and her hands were very steady. She placed three of the booklets in front of Chen Fan, then took one out and put it in Wukong's hand, and handed the last one to the White Dragon Horse.
"A temporary voyage log," she said. "It's not an official log, it doesn't bear the seal of the Buddhist academy, it only records the people and ships encountered along the way. Who asked the questions, where they were asked, and how they answered—all of that is recorded."
Wukong flipped through the booklet.
"It's smaller than my palm, how many people can it remember?"
"Remember this." Si Mo raised his hand and pointed to the first page. "One page at a time. It's better to be slow than to cram everything together. I've assigned blank numbers to the rest, so fill them in accordingly. If someone only gives their nickname, write that nickname down and leave the real name field blank next to it for later verification."
Chen Fan weighed the booklet in his hand and asked her, "What should I ask first?"
Si Mo answered quickly: "First, ask for your real name."
She paused, then added another sentence.
"Don't ask where it came from, don't ask about the goods first. Ask for their real name first. Whether they are willing to tell you, how they will tell you, who they look at before they open their mouths, where they put their hands—these are all more valuable than anything else."
The room fell silent for a moment.
Yang Jian leaned against the door, remaining silent until now. He then raised his eyes slightly: "The sea isn't like the museum. If you go up there and ask for my real name, things could easily turn sour."
"We have to ask, even if it means turning against you." Chen Fan opened the booklet. "We've already tested the first few chapters. The more you hide a name, the less it can withstand the light of day. Since that sea route only goes to nameless ships, we'll try to pry it open from their names. If we can't, then we'll talk about something else."
Wukong stuffed the booklet into his arms and chuckled.
"I'm good at this. First, I'll ask his name, then see if he dares to glare at me."
The white dragon horse turned its head to look at him: "Don't try to scare people with that stick. If you startle them on the ship, your words will be false."
"I didn't bring a stick when I went."
Even if you don't bring it, he'll still recognize your face.
Wukong clicked his tongue and turned to look at Chen Fan: "Did you hear that? It's become a fearsome reputation."
Chen Fan didn't respond to that, but simply pushed the nautical chart towards Yang Jian.
"You're not going to sea."
Yang Jian remained unmoved: "I know. You decided on it last night."
"You stay behind to patrol the border." Chen Fan pointed to several points along the coast on the map, "North Tower, old ferry, ruins of the tax warehouse, and the three streets outside the monastery. Keep an eye on the people on the shore and the records on the move. As soon as we go out to sea, someone on the shore will definitely make a move."
Yang Jian reached out and pressed those spots, then looked down for a couple of breaths.
"What if someone takes this opportunity to burn the books?"
Si Mo immediately replied, "The main register is divided into two copies. One is in the library, and the other was moved to the back wall last night. We can burn the few on the table, but not all of them."
Xuanzang gently tapped the copied blank pages, making the stack even neater.
"I'll keep one more with me."
Yang Jian glanced at him, said nothing more, only asking, "What about a reply from the sea?"
"He has six ears and can hear everything," Chen Fan said. "He can pinpoint nearby information. If it's far away, release the talisman. If you catch someone, don't rush to interrogate them. First, record their names. Check the roster and the person separately, don't let them mix them up."
Yang Jian nodded, which was taken as an agreement.
Si Mo then took out three thin ropes from his sleeve. The ends of the ropes were tied to small wooden plaques, each with an empty frame carved on it, without any words inside.
"Bring this along too."
Wukong picked it up and shook it: "What's it for?"
"Make temporary identifications," Si Mo said. "If you encounter someone on the ship who is unidentified and cannot clearly state their name, have them press their fingerprint onto a plaque. You can bring them back, and I will copy them onto the plaque. If they have an injury and cannot press their fingerprint, take a small blood sample and mark a corner of it; that will count as reserving a space."
The white dragon horse frowned slightly after hearing this.
"Drawing blood can be frightening."
Xuanzang put down his pen, looked up, and said, "Ask first. If they want to leave their fingerprints, then leave them. If they don't, we won't force them. Just tell them that this isn't the government arresting someone; it's giving them a way back. People who have been at sea for a long time aren't afraid of writing; they're afraid that if they write something, no one will recognize it."
He spoke in a very flat voice. As Chen Fan listened, he recalled those people who had filled in their names a few days ago. Some people stood in front of the desk, opened their mouths for a long time, and the first thing they said was their former employer's number; some people's hands trembled when they pressed their fingerprints, and after they finished, they would look at the paper again, as if they were afraid that the red ink on the paper would run away by itself.
A name, on land, is just a stroke of a pen; at sea, it often means the difference between life and death.
He reached for a blank page and glanced at it.
"Bring me a few more pages from this page."
Xuanzang pushed half a stack over directly.
"If that's not enough, copy more."
Wukong leaned over and scrutinized the characters a couple of times: "Master, your handwriting is more upright than Si Mo's."
"Put it away from me, don't rub your damp hands on it."
Wukong chuckled and, as expected, withdrew his hand.
Chen Fan separated the pages, saying as he did so, "Let's go over the division of labor again. After boarding the ship, I'll keep an eye on the people and the ship. Wukong, don't wander around. Stand at the bow and keep an eye on two things: first, whether anyone is deliberately avoiding your gaze, and second, who touches their waist the moment they hear their real name."
Wukong raised an eyebrow: "Touching your waist?"
"Things are usually hidden at sea, tucked behind the waist. Short knives, private seals, old badges, all are in that area. When someone tenses up, the hand goes there first."
Wukong nodded: "Okay, I'll keep an eye on it."
"The White Dragon Horse recognizes the Dao, and it also recognizes the ship." Chen Fan looked at him again. "Look at the seams, the old nails, the paint touch-ups, especially the places that were taken apart and put back together. Last night, that ship was half-dismantled, and there were so many places to hide writing. Ships that came from the same sea will most likely leave behind the same marks."
White Dragon Horse responded, "I'll check the stern first, then the bottom compartment opening. If there's a hidden compartment, that's where it's most likely to be exposed."
"Let's talk once we're on board. I'll speak first," Chen Fan said. "If you don't answer after I ask three times, then it's your turn. Don't fight over it. This whole thing will fall apart if things get chaotic."
Si Mo, who was listening nearby, suddenly interjected, "There's one more thing."
Everyone looked at her.
She opened the general book in her hand and pointed it out to Chen Fan. On the very first page, the ink was still fresh, and there were only eight characters: "Name first, then business; people first, then goods."
"Write this down," she said. "It doesn't matter who it is. Even if there's a mountain of gold on the ship, the name has to be at the top. Otherwise, people will start talking nonsense as soon as they see the goods."
Chen Fan smiled and said, "You write more efficiently than I do."
"You're making things complicated."
"Then let's go with your suggestion."
Yang Jian straightened up by the door, walked to the table, and read the eight characters.
"What if the other party gives a false name?"
Si Mo laid the pen down horizontally, his tone unhurried: "Remember the pseudonyms as well. The more complete the memory, the easier it will be to decipher them later. The worst case scenario is someone who won't leave out a single word. Those kinds of people are probably not using the same pseudonym for the first time."
Xuanzang dried the last few blank pages, folded them neatly, tied them together with fine hemp thread, and handed them to Chen Fan.
"Take this bouquet with you. If you meet someone who wants to leave a mark, do it on the spot. Don't wait until you come back."
Chen Fan took it, feeling the paper was still slightly warm. It was the warmth of writing under the lamp, not much, but very real.
Two short, urgent cries of seagulls came from outside. Liu Er, perched on the eaves, tilted his head towards the sea and suddenly whispered, "It's the second round. The position hasn't changed, but there's a small boat next to us, following closely, like it's protecting us."
The white dragon horse immediately grabbed its cloak: "It's time to go."
Wukong shrugged and stepped outside, but stopped at the door. He turned back and held out his hand to Xuanzang: "Give me a stack of blank pages too."
Xuanzang chuckled: "What do you need so many for?"
"The wind is strong at sea, what if it gets messed up? Besides, I'll go and learn how to memorize things too." Wukong grabbed the stack of papers and stuffed them haphazardly into his pocket. "If anyone can't name someone, I'll go and press their hand too."
Si Mo frowned as she watched his movements: "Be gentle. If you fold the paper badly, the print will run."
Wukong patted his chest: "You can't escape."
Chen Fan tucked the temporary navigation booklet into his sleeve and took one last look at the long table. The nautical charts, the master book, the inkstone, and the half-empty stack of papers were all still there. It was like an ordinary morning in the library, yet there was a distinct tension that was more pronounced than usual.
Yang Jian had already picked up the three-pointed double-edged sword behind the door and stepped aside to make way.
"Leave the shore to me," he said.
Chen Fan nodded, said nothing more, and left with Wukong and the white dragon horse.
The morning tide was rising, making the stone steps slippery. At the ferry crossing, not everyone was up yet; only a few porters carrying nets coughed, their voices carried on the damp breeze. The small boat was moored to a short stake, its sides slapped against the waves, the wood feeling dull and lifeless.
Si Mo followed them down the steps and took photos of the three people's temporary travel brochures one by one.
"Remember," she said, looking at Chen Fan, then glancing at Wukong and the White Dragon Horse. "When you meet someone, ask for their real name first. Write it down whether they answer or not. If they're willing to leave a mark, leave it first. Don't think it's troublesome."
Xuanzang stood behind and pushed the bundle of blank pages forward again.
"If someone only reaches out their hand without speaking," he said, "that counts too."
Chen Fan took it and stepped onto the deck.
The boat swayed slightly.
Wukong had already squatted at the bow of the boat, his hands resting on his knees, staring at the gray-blue sea ahead. The White Dragon Horse untied the mooring rope, turned around and glanced north, as if mentally retracing the old path once more.
Chen Fan opened the first page of the voyage book, dipped his pen in his small inkwell, and wrote down today's tide time in the blank space.
The boat had barely left the shore when he looked up and spoke to the gray boat that was slowly coming into view ahead:
"Who's on the boat? State your real name first."